I have a pash for Christmas crackers and worse than that...
Being a disciple of Mrs T (NO! NOT THAT ONE!) Mrs Thifty of whose blog I'm a 'sort-of' avid follower. I am HUGELY ashamed to admit that this Christmas cracker obsession is gaining an unhealthy hold on me. One year I did go cold turkey and make my own. Saving loo roll innards, shopping for tasteful gifts for the recipients, thinking up crappy jokes, making Admiral hats out of the business section (no funnies here please!),enrobing the crackers in old FT colour supplement pages. An up-market cracker if ever there was one!
Trouble was I knew what was in them, I knew who got what, I knew they were made, mindful of the planet. But hey ho, the smugness of being holier than thou didn't work its magic on me. I felt cheated and by me of all people.
This year folks I've admitted I have problem - that's the hardest.
I've found some half price crackers, pored over the pictures of the contents on the back of the box and alright they are pretty ghastly, but buying at a knockdown price I feel I have taken a very real step towards being able to say "I'm a reformed crackerholic!"
I'm afraid I'm just not strong enough to share the details of my other obsession with you today
All I really want to do is to batten down the hatches and just 'be'.
Today wasn't going to be a 'be' day. Appointments at the dentist and the vets were in the diary, so off I went not before taking these pictures from my blog spot.
Driving through the Kent countryside I almost felt pleased I'd been winkled out. The spectacular hoare frosted trees made my bit of ancient hedge look a bit ordinaire.
I still can't believe I've actually started taking pictures. I blame it on this blogging lark and jolly pleased I am too. Same with writing the blog, who would have thought LL would be bothered to keep a diary. And to be honest I've reached the point I don't care if people read it, cos I'm doing it for me.
I have mentioned before that I'm a self-centred lump and there you have it!
I wasn't even worried when I tried on a luscious velvet Christmas "All in the best possible taste" dress AND in order to get it over my shoulders I had to gently dislocate them one at a time. I gave up as the bosoms hove into view and with the best will in the world there was NO WAY the dress would have accommodated these 'little' beauties.
I'm struggling for words to best describe his wonderful works of mini art.
This is a fabulous brooch I bought made from an old watch, odds and ends. I also chose a superb badge with two swallows swooping over a white watch face. Super cards and an odd assortment of interesting bits were there to buy. I watched enviously from two stalls down as people stopped to admire his wares. All I really wanted to do was to tell them to buzz off, cos I wanted EVERYTHING!
He in my book, was the star of the fair.
This is his logo thingy - pay him a visit - you won't be disappointed.
The fair was a huge success, all the team were super efficient, friendly and helpful. This was their first Christmas fair and looking at their forthcoming programme there is lots more excitement planned.
Pay them a visit if you live in the area, play them a visit even if you don't.
My studio is a testament to my love of books, I'm even having more book shelves built in my 'cosy', cavernous oak room to accommodate the overflow - Kindle eat your heart out.
Every paper/periodical I open, if there's a photo of someone in front of a bookshelf I crane my neck trying to see what's on their shelves.
I plough through the 'Christmas books - FT critics select their favourite fiction of the year' knowing full well only a tiny selection will be within my limited quota of IQ. Alright I know I should be looking at the The Sun's critics choice... problem there is, I'm too blooming brainy not to be hugely irritated by the lightness of the recommended tomes.
Is it me, or does everyone associate biker boots with the sort of hoi polloi that gives old ladies a kicking?
Always a trend-setter me... this old lady has decided to play them at their own game and don a pair of twinkle toed bovvers. You just would'nt believe the things I've bought on ebay; these for instance and much loved they are too.
Alright, alright I know at my age I should be clad in Crimplene, saggy stockings and slippers with bobbles and buttons. The spectre of the BIG pink knickers hovers in the wings waiting, waiting, weighting on my mind (see an earlier blog).
Out in the snow yesterday and today striding, stamping, snowboarding on winged bikers. How smug was I? I didn't once feel the need to kick a pimpled youth in the air.
On a more sedate note this is a Clothkits doll I've made for my granddaughter Hope
(see I can do granny things)
When my son asked me what I wanted to be called ie Granny, Nanny blah, blah, blah. I thought CRIKEY! I'M FAR TOO YOUNG TO BE GRANDMAMA! And anyway, who wants those ageing titles pinned on one, I ask you? I thought for a nano-second and decided I would be called Poppy. And there you have it! Puss-Poppy in biker boots.
Working away in my studio on Tuesday a neighbour called to ask me to make a shamrock badge for her son. He's playing a leprechaun in the school play. On the strength of this I fully expect Julian Fellowes to call any day soon to ask for my help with the costumes for the next series of Downton Abbey.
and what am I doing? I'm blogging that's what, how sad is that?
I sit here in my eyrie, I'm sinking under a sea of Thesauri (is this right?), dictionari (probably not either?), tomes of spelling, grammar and the definitive guide to the appliance of the apostrophe. And guess what - I'm still hopeless. Although in my defence I do enjoy being provocative in a 'Is she really that thick kind of a way!' In order to play the piano badly you have to know how to play it goodly - innit. Well that's my excuse.
The aforementioned books bought from my fav on-line shop Amazon, are certainly good for the circulation. No, no, NO not to the brain, the feet, cos that's their main role in life. A better class of foot rest what!
Why am I up this early? I'll tell you... I'm at a funny age... my hormones have bitten the dust to be replaced by a surfeit of creative genes. My head spins with ideas of a crafty nature. I turn over in bed and instead of reconnecting with the snooze apparatus, I start thinking what to do with my latest charity, ebay buy. Trouble is, by the time I get across to the studio I've completely forgotten what wonderful creation I was planning.
It's Friday and I don't know how to change the day and time on this blooming blog. They say a little knowledge is a bad thing, how true that is. Can a blogging aficionado tell me how to do it? Only one prob here Lindy Lou no bugger reads it...
what I've just picked in the garden... aren't they just beautiful?
I will return...
Yesterday at sewing class I had a bit of an Elizabeth Bott moment; the only thing I didn't do was lay on the floor and kick my legs in the air. How undignified would that have been? I ought to tell you I am an only child, that in my book makes every spoilt cotton-picking thing I do okay. Is it my fault I didn't have a brother or sister? Don't get me wrong I love my sewing lessons with Debs, however when I decide to do boring things like curtains I'm not a happy bunny. The reason being I like being creative and making exciting stuff. I was sewing strips of fabric together and guess what? I got two back to front. After I'd bounced around the room shouting and stamping my foots, I nearly fell over, that's how BIG a strop it was. The ground vibrating; sewing machines rattling; sensible students with mouths open wide enough to catch hibernating queen hornets (see earlier blog), and Debs laughing fit to bust. I then calmed down and strolled over to my machine to discover that the I'd only gone 18 inches (or 46 cms if you're metricated) before I'd exploded in an almighty paddy. I just wish one day I might be able to act my age.
If you want to know what the flowers are... I'm not telling you!
Debs from Pretty Goods can be seen setting up her stall (she'll probably kill me for this!)
I'm only pleased you can't see her stall, because it would so ably demonstrate her skills. And how much further I've got to go to attain her exalted heights. My angels made from sweet wrappers and bubble wrap don't somehow seem to capture the great and the goods' imagination. Can't think why?
My stall as you can see lacks a little finesse...
at least everything, with the exception of the paper ribbon and string was made by me. I get upset when you go to craft fairs and see bought-in wares.
Sunday morning... a note left by the kettle from Hubs who is out for the day... Aaaah!
Trouble is... I have to get dressed and go up for the papers. I'm out and about so I thought I'd take a few photo's to show you the village. This is the church, scene of our yesterday's skirmish with commerce.
The duck pond... self explanatory really...
The view as I turn into the track (to call it a drive would be far too grand) up to our cottage.
I love living on the top of a hill...
the reason being I can look down on people!
When I first said this to Simon, my partner who died in 2000, he replied in his cut-crystal(I've been to public school) voice...
"Spoken like a true socialist Linda!"
There you have it.
Treasures bought by me at the fair... I love the cover of this book, doesn't he look sweet? And the illustrations and colours are just so evocative of the sixties
A quince which will be part of our Sunday supper.
This beautiful embroidered picture for 50p from the WI stall. I just adore it. If I were to try to make a primitive picture like this it would look ridiculous. How do I know? Because being a frustrated artist who can't draw, I once mistakenly thought that primitive paintings were done by people like me. I couldn't have been MORE wrong.
£1 for this duck!
These Christmas trees made from wood salvaged out of a skip.
What a beauty... this flag was waiting for me when I got home... Yes, another ebay buy.
The man that made the ducks was telling a little boy in front of me in the queue that they were 60 million years old.